


A Baseball Bat and an Allegation

by ApatheticByDefault



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApatheticByDefault/pseuds/ApatheticByDefault
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich is surrounded by idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Baseball Bat and an Allegation

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing like what I'm accustomed to writing. It's basically just a gag, because I absolutely miss when fanfiction was this simple and laid-back. It's all so impressively despair-inducing now. (Also, I can't tell if this written work is crack-like or just so into the Season One and Two characterizations at times, because the show at that time was really capable of being ridiculous, that it's almost impressively awkward. Maybe both?)

"My brothers and I have to go on a run out of town later today," Mickey starts by shuffling his hand across his face and rubbing his lips, "and it might get pretty boring by ourselves, so, then, you know, if you want—"

Ian looks up and smirks from his place sprawled across their bed before Mickey is offered a chance by his stuttering mouth to finish voicing his thoughts for agreement or rejection. "Am I an official member of the Mickey Mouse Club now?"

"Fuck you, is what you're a member of." The pillow bounces off Ian's face.

"Well," Ian pushes himself off the sheets to start counting pills, "maybe I have no interest in winding up _imprisoned_ only shortly after a deal goes sour between the Milk-mob and a recovering-addicts alignment of hepatitis-pierced skinheads." He shrugs.

Mickey shrugs back.

"Hey, I'm going to take these after I get out of the shower, 'cause it's not really time yet, so can you make me something to eat with 'em?"

"Yeah," Mickey huffs, pulling on a shirt and opening the door to the sound of water spraying from a distance of several feet afar.

Mandy is in spaghetti straps and underwear, brushing her thighs against the cupboards as wistfully as strips of hair escape a tousled bun to swipe at her skin. "Morning."

"Jesus, don't you ever think to put on some fuckin' clothes? Your brothers are right fucking here, Mandy."

"Exactly, so I don't exactly know what seeing me half-naked would ever stand a chancing of doing to you guys, but I guess I don't wanna know what you're suggesting." Layers of cheese melting on bread. "Besides," she turns back to him to declare her words are thoroughly thought through before whipping around to the kitchen appliances, "half the population of this house is gay, anyway."

If Mickey had known everyone would have just non-stylishly (and completely without their own individual fucking flare) followed his lead in marching out of the claustrophobia-inducing and metaphorical closet of repressed fashion, he wouldn't have been a fraction as scared of doing so as he had been for years. Then, it simply is not fair that his moment was outshined by that of those far more self-confident and -righteous in their standings on political warfare and rainbow bandanas, diametrically opposite to anything at all thug-like.

"Woah! Is that your coming-out story, Mandy? 'Cause we were pretty sure, with you, we had 'em outnumbered." Iggy raises his hands up in mock-surrender, and Colin nods his head.

"We're not the only ones who live here now, idiot."

"Dad's gonna have an aneurism."

"Good." Mickey starts pulling out eggs and separating whites from yolks, securing steps in ensuring Ian likes to eat the breakfast he's being served.

"Heh, heh." Colin giggles muffled breaths. "I walked into your room while you two were sleeping and saw you guys cuddling your hands together."

"Not exactly what we meant when we told you to always keep a bitch at arm's length." Iggy hits Mickey at his waist, and the one brunette without greasy gel hair faces the other threateningly with a yellow-smeared fork.

"Do dudes apply though?" Colin asks from his place at the table.

"Hell yeah. That's gender equality."

"Who's your boyfriend?" Colin questions again, with a dopey expression mapped out on his face. It's the one he makes perpetually.

"He's in the shower." Mickey moves to the pan, hoping to draw attention back to his need to blend two solids into an omelette. Nobody can be sure how Ian can stomach spinach in the morning without succumbing to an unending nausea, but he swallows Lithium everyday, so the green must learn to, in astounding ways, pale in comparison to the clearing white.

"Not what he asked." Iggy starts throwing sea salt at him. "When the hell did you two start buying this white rock shit?"

"It's Ian Gallagher." Mandy jumps in.

"Your boyfriend is a Gallagher?" It's only then that Colin actually seems truly interested.

"Isn't that the dude who tried to rape Mandy?" Iggy would start freaking out if he had a caring bone in his body.

"Why would a gay guy try to rape Mandy?" Colin appears genuinely intrigued.

Mandy takes that as her cue to leave.

"Don't we have a baseball bat with his dried blood on it?"

"Nah, I think that's someone else's."

"He didn't fucking— Christ— look, he's coming with us today, okay?" Mickey starts pacing back and forth, only spreading out his hands, really, to drop things in places where they should be and exude a calm as quickly as it starts to leave him in percolating evanescence. "I ain't leaving him alone with these four. It's like fucking Sappho planting her flag on the Isle of Lesbos."

"I thought the Greeks invented homos."

"Yeah, but lesbians too."

"Would you fucking—" Mickey secures a palm to his face and pretends his arm won't stiffen with pain if he keeps it glued there for the remainder of the conversation.

The conversation somehow reverts back to Ian Gallagher, despite several repeated instances of Mickey both insisting and confirming that, yes, his boyfriend _is_ Mandy's pseudo-attacker, but, no, he did not _actually_ attack her, and, yes, their sister can't handle rejection, but, no, that does not put the blame on any one gay boy for resisting her pushy attitude and inclination for sex.

"Nah, but he must be talking about some other gay dude." Colin is sure (because, clearly, the gays aren't in such short supply in this neighbourhood that this is only the first they're both hearing of the once-dalliance). "That guy was totally scrawny. This one's, like, built."

Mickey can't argue with that logic. Ian Gallagher's bitch-whipping of puberty is the ultimate shining beacon of hope in refuting claims against evolution.

"It's the same fucking dude." He can't help but to snap, nonetheless.

"Oh." Colin considers, while Iggy attempts to pick a piece of spinach out of Ian's egg whites, and Mickey slaps his hand away with such ferocity that his brother actually considers shielding the ceramic plate from falling off the counter and smashing against the kitchen floor before surrendering his knuckles to the safety of his stomach and away from Mickey's uncut nails. ( _"Get those freaky hetero-proof talons away from me. I know now fo' sure you ain't cuttin' up a bitch's insides with those things, fuck.")_ "Congrats, man. He'll probably age well. Like wine, or cheese, or somethin'."

("Queers usually like that stuff.")

"Not like Juan's girl, with the saggy tits." Iggy offers.

"Yeah, but they have bras and stuff for that. Dick surgery can get a little more complicated."

"They do that?"

"They do everything."

Mickey doesn't realise he's begun to pull out his hair until he's surreptitiously picking pieces of it out from Ian's eggs, less cautiously wiping his hands down his boxers.

"Mornin'." Ian walks into the room with a towel stretched over his waist and drooping dangerously close to his dark orange stripes. There are still water droplets dribbling their way down his chest, because, evidently, the white and _seriously_ thin sheet of cloth is clearly working overtime to keep more important things dry and out of eyes' sight.

(And, since when did everyone start declaring it morning at the slightest burst of sunshine? Whatever happened to a simple hello, or any other concievable salutation? Where on earth have all the thesauruses disappeared to?)

Something stirs inside Mickey until he realises the pounding it's caused by is just his heart beating ever more quickly, and the thing rushing through the veins in his body is blood. "Hey." Mickey's smiles are like simply breathing. If one's mouth stretches as readily into a grin as Ian's does, oxygen makes its way smoothly into one's lungs even in the place of distraction.

Ian slides his hands with a tickle of hair off Mickey's when he's handed his plate of breakfast, and he makes his way back into the bedroom.

Since Colin spent the entire encounter staring at Ian's chest, he's watching the flexing muscles of Ian's pale-skinned spine as he walks away and closes the bedroom door with his foot. "You sure it's the same guy?" His mouth is slightly open.

"Yeah, man, our bro's totally gay for Gallagher."

"I like redheads too." Colin straightens up in his chair.

"Then, we'll get you the next one." His brothers aren't close to done eating, since they stopped chewing at the arrival of conversation (praise be to the gods), but Mickey starts to grasp their dishes and clean them with soapy water in the hopes that they'll get up and leave.

Iggy looks thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe he's got a sister."

" _NO_."

~~~

Mickey's brothers assure him that their "run out of town" is merely a coded venturing to clubs and bars way on the other side of Chicago, and their plans are even more simply to get drunk and high out of their minds, and into senseless bliss.

"Oh, yeah? And who's your designated driver?" Mickey wants to know.

"Oh." Colin looks at Iggy, and Iggy starts picking at his fingernails. "We didn't get that far."

Of course they didn't.

"So you just expected me to let you two drive us back across town at night completely intoxicated?"

"Well... since when do you care?"

Mickey's still not quite sure.

"Ian and I'll come with, make sure you guys don't get your licenses taken away. Again."

"Are you offering to take us on a double date then?" Iggy looks up.

"Does that mean you're buyin'?" Colin double-checks.

"Fucking no, man. We're not even drinking."

"I thought you said he was a Gallagher."

"Gallaghers are Irish, right?"

"And his father's Frank, I thought."

"Weren't we gonna kill Frank?"

"I think a lot of people were gonna kill Frank."

"But didn't he almost kill _himself_?"

"That's probably why the fam doesn't like booze anymore."

"Oh."

Mickey is just about to open his mouth to start shouting hysterically, a scene he's played a million times thanks to the emergence of the Russian prostitutes, when Ian walks into the living room, this time actually wearing a shirt and shorts, much to both Mickey's relief and disappointment.

"I have to go to my house to get something before you guys leave."

"You can stay, Mickey'll go get it for you." Colin gets up hurriedly to start washing Ian's dish.

"Be a _good_ boyfriend."

"Fuck off." Mickey clenches his fists.

'You know, that's okay. We can just go together." Ian starts to grab at Mickey's arms. Mickey can easily tell he's not really feeling the Brothers Milkovich, but there's no way in fresh hell that Mickey'll be going partying with them anywhere alone, even if it means his boyfriend is going to have to sacrifice his moral integrity. (He'll get it back, he always does.)

~~~

"Why are we here again?" Mickey's getting uncomfortable at the prospect of one of the younger kids asking stupid fucking questions. It starts immediately in the morning.

"I'm just gonna chip in for the property tax, it'll be like I wasn't even here. I'll be out in a minute."

"The fuck do you need to give 'em money? You don't even live here anymore." Mickey faux-coughs obnoxiously. _You live with me, dickhead._

"They're my family, Mick. I just wanna help a bit."

"You help plenty, Ian. But where the hell are they when you need something, huh?"

"They're my _family_ , Mickey."

Mickey scowls, and Ian grabs his hand before opening the door. "But you're still mine too."

Mickey raises his eyebrows and grins, before some tight-pantsed Zoboomafoo-looking motherfucker jumps from the seat of his S-class and starts racing up the steps two at a time.

"Wasn't that idiot on an episode of _Weeds?"_

Ian turns from his place inside to look at where his boyfriend has started pointing wildly and going into his pockets for a phone. ("Put that away, honey.")

"Hey, is Fiona around?" Ian rolls his eyes.

"Not that we'd tell you if she was." He starts to close the door, and Mickey leans out of the way as the man's foot collides with the entrance.

"Could you tell her that I stopped by?"

"Tell her who stopped by? Jimmy, Jack, or Steve?" Whatever-His-Name-Is curls his lips inward at Ian's crisply voiced disgust and starts reaching into his jacket for car keys. "Hey, do you ever change your last name too? 'Cause I've thought up a pretty good last name for you, Jack, and it starts with the letter A."

At this point, Mickey is definitely unsure what on earth is going on, but he's really starting to regret not taking his phone out at Ian's suggestion and digs inside his shirt just for that.

"Hey, um, maybe you've seen my dad? He probably still hasn't been south of the Art Institute Gala since Billy Joel played Comiskey Park in '84, but I was hoping he could maybe meet me somewhere, I have a few things I need to... discuss... with him."

"That asshole? I thought you said you were done with him." Ian ignored Mickey's protests.

"Uh..." Ian started to close the door, the supposed Jimmy reached for it, and Mickey didn't break his hand because he needed to see where this conversation was headed. "He used to drop by the store sometimes."

"Your store? He drove all the way across—" JimmyJackSteve looked on the verge of hyperventilation, "Okay then. Alright. Must be some quality dick you've got there."

The dude kept nodding his head up and down in short strides before making his way down the lawn. Mickey had never met anyone so infuriatingly persistent. And he wasn't even that hot.

"Tell Fiona I dropped by." He managed as he started clicking the button on his car keys and climbing into the silver vehicle.

"We won't." Ian crossed his arms beside Mickey, reaching out his foot to tickle at Mickey's bare leg and the short strands of hair there while he waited impressively patiently for homeboy to get a move on.

"Hey," the guy in the car, unfair Mickey's first time meeting him required the memory of far more than just one name, opened his ever-working mouth again, "aren't you the guy," he pointed at Ian, "who tried to beat him to death with a baseball bat?"

Mickey snorted. That's where he knew the guy. But where the hell was he getting all these cars?

"Yeah," Ian snapped. "He's my boyfriend."

And Ian slammed the door shut in finality to the sound of Jimmy "Jack Ass" Steve muttering, "Shit, he's good," and driving off.

~~~

Ian and Mickey are lying spread across Mickey's bed sheets, with their feet tangled together and their toes moving at their own accord and tracing undocumented shapes in each other's skin. Ian's breath is tickling at the skin and alert hairs on Mickey's neck and collarbone, his red hair is massaging itself into the other boy's temples, and Ian's hands are moving spherically around each individual knuckle tattoo when he starts muffling his choked-out laughs into Mickey's chest. The vibrations move both up his throat and coursing through every other limb of his body.

"What's so funny?" Mickey's eyes are starting to close even as they startle awake, and he reaches his head and only his head, the rest of his body stilling slowly and falling asleep before he has the chance to dream of it, to look into spots of green that are contrasted with red even in the dim of lights going off outside through a stark window. The more ever quickly they open to take in his surroundings, the faster he will be able to fall into a restless sleep, just like this and recording with his senses all the things he wants to take with him into his nightmares.

"Nothing." Ian seems ready to continue talking, but he doesn't before allocating his hands further down to grab at his boyfriend's waist and encompass the flesh there on either side, before bursting into a fit of giggles again. They travel down Mickey's spine. "It's just..." And this is the part where Mickey can be certain Ian is fighting himself on voicing his thoughts, so, because Mickey doesn't want him to, and because they've both done enough of that, he smiles reassuringly. "You've tried to off me with a baseball bat."

"Jesus Christ!" Mickey shouts into the pillow at the time of Ian's flinching and pulls him more closely into the warmth of his body. "There was no fucking baseball bat involved!"

"You still tried to bruise my internal organs, one way or another."

"Jesus." Mickey grimaces at the colourful description before smirking in anticipation of his next sentence. "Guess that's just my type of foreplay."

Mickey's head smacks against the bedpost in the conquest of his annoyed shouts as Ian grabs the pillow beneath it to start smacking him in the face. "Freak! I knew you had a thing for that!"

"Shut the _fuck up_!" Mickey grabs the assaulting weapon to begin his own attacks on Ian's readily revealed chest of pale and sensitively reddening skin before grabbing the redhead's arms and holding them together above him and to the side of his gasping breaths.

"How could I ever hurt that pretty little face of yours?"

"Pretty?" Ian's teeth are white in the darkness.

It's almost all he can see in the dying of light from the road outside, and he knows he's completed his task well, if it is the only thing he can see. "The prettiest," Mickey assures him with a stroke of his lips to Ian's and another smile.

Ian likes to ruin moments. "Someone still had a baseball bat."

Mickey shoved a chuckling Ian to the side (even if he could feel his long-fingered hands, shiver-inducing, reach back immediately to cradle at his arms) and closed his eyes mockingly, still smiling in the blackness.

"You know what I like about you?" Ian whispered.

Mickey groaned in fake irritation, opening an eye. " _No_ , Ian. What do you like about me?"

"You clean up nice."

"Oh, do I?" Now, both of Mickey's eyes were open, and Mickey was content to accept sleep would be a privilege and not a right that night. He couldn't ask for anything more than the boy cuddling his neck into his from beside him, and he certainly couldn't imagine he'd ever be deserving of much more.

"Mmm-hmmm." Ian kissed his neck, and Mickey felt the space of warmth between his lips as they dabbed into his skin. "Like, the best."

And what a perfect way for Mickey to at once close his eyes, _again_ , in finality and drift off to sleep, with dreams of a ginger-haired boy proclaiming his affections for a dirty one and leaving him the chance for a new day to start alas with the same hope the last had ended with—

"Oh, wait, I think I had a baseball bat."

But, clearly, Mickey had fallen in love with an idiot.

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus, I am just not at all impressed with myself for this, but I am so glad I got it out of my system. (P.S. The line about evolution has nothing to do with the phenomenon in the literal sense, rather, I'm merely suggesting a great deal of change can occur so subtly but in great extents that one is eventually shocked by the outcome of time's eventual and inevitable progress.)


End file.
